What Matters
by SirKriS
Summary: Moriarty is back, and Molly may be in serious danger as he decides to include her in his game with the consulting detective. Rating might change later on. But when pasts are exploited and unforeseen players are brought to light, Sherlock and Molly will have to confront their demons, all the while holding fast to what matters most to them in the end.
1. Miss Me?

A/N: I probably have no business starting another multi-fic as I already have 2 others in progress but I'm going to anyway. Sorry about the vague-ish summary. I kind of know where it will go but characters tend to do their own thing once I start writing.

I hope you enjoy it anyway :)

* * *

Molly had been walking back to her office to find her pen when the monitor lit up on it's own to show a face she hoped never to see. His disoriented voice repeated the same words over, and over again.

Did you miss me?

Did you miss me?

Did you miss me?

"I think I look better in person, right Molls?" A sing-song voice asked behind her. Her stomach lurched she turned around to face the world's only consulting criminal. Words had failed her when she looked at the dangerous man. She had only known him as Jim from IT, not mastermind criminal, and so she wasn't sure how to react.

"I know I'm handsome Molly, but geez you're a bit star struck."

Moriarty looked down at himself. "Hm. Must be the suit. Sorry Molls but I'm on official revenge business so it'll have to do."

"What do you want?" she asked, reaching slowly into her pocket to call someone.

He grasped his chest in dramatic shock. "Is that how you greet an ex-boyfriend? Not so mousy are we now."

"You were never my boyfriend" she snapped, wincing immediately when she remembered whom she was talking to.

Moriarty's eyed he with amusement. "Oh, come on Molly, it's me! Jim from IT! I'd never kill you." He scrunched up his face uncertainly, "I think."

"You're also a murderous psychopath named Jim Moriarty" she replied more cautiously. Her heart thundered in her chest as she tried to discreetly redial a number.

"Mmm yes, and no. You see, that was more my brother than me; we did this kind of tag character play, but I digress. Aaaand I see you're not paying attention." He finished with a pout on his face. He had caught on to what she was trying to do.

"Oh, come on Molly, you're much smarter than you let on. I know you understand this whole cornered-damsel dynamic," he said as he reached politely for her to hand over the phone. Her heart sank as she passed her only form of communication to him.

Moriarty looked down at the screen with a puzzled look. "Greg? Oh," he said, comprehension dawning on his face. "The DI fellow with the first name Sherlock never remembers. And here I thought you would call Sherlock. Oh no wait, you did before."

He looked up to grin at her. "Didn't he get exiled today?"

Molly shut her eyes briefly at that. It was true that she had impulsively called the consulting detective the moment she got her hands on her phone but had quickly tried it to call the only other person that could help.

"So," he began cheerfully, "You don't seem surprised that you might have been dating two different people." Molly wasn't sure what to make of his friendly demeanor but decided to go along with it.

"Nothing beats the 'dating a criminal mastermind' part." She didn't know how long she had before changed and so chose to work on her next best option, figuring out how to get away from him.

"If it makes you feel better, I was the one who watched Glee with you" Moriarty turned around to play with the test tubes. "Dreadfully dull if I might add. I might have saved you an early death at the hands of my brother for that." He looked back at her in time to see her observing their surroundings and sighed dejectedly.

"_Fine_. If you really want me to speed this all up." He snapped his fingers behind to alert a man Molly hadn't noticed until then.

Everything in her was screaming to run away now, but something told her it would do more harm than good to her in her situation.

God, she hoped Greg would have the sense to call back her. Molly couldn't help but back slightly away from the fast approaching stranger. His menacing presence was ringing warning bells in her head and it took everything in her to ask her question calmly.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Test a theory," he replied brightly. The man grabbed a tight hold on Molly as Moriarty walked up closer to her. "And prove a point." He drew out a switch blade from his pocket, examining the blade before pointing it towards her.

"Sorry dear, this might hurt just a tinsy bit."


	2. IOU

**A/N: Here's the next chapter.**

* * *

"Welcome back brother mine."

Sherlock threw his brother a grim smile before asking, "Has anything happened? Increased crime levels, flagged terrorist attacks?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, it's only been 9 minutes. But no, my agents haven't reported anything yet."

"Hm, I rather rely on my network." He patted his pockets and turned around to grab the phone away from the guard that had escorted him out the plane.

"Have you considered the possibility it may be a hoax to cause a stir?" Sherlock asked as he turned on his phone. No text messages, that's to be expected. A missed call from Molly? He pondered for a second before deciding it must have been an reflexive call.

"Of course, seeing how it is difficult to see how he could have survived." Mycroft explained. "There is a chance the video is authentic, especially given the rather spectacular timing of halting your exile."

"Shall we?" he motioned to the car before he sat in. The rest followed as John's phone rang.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson? Yes—calm down—we're alright. No, we're not sure but they let Sherlock come back. No I'm sure it will be fine. Hang on, someone else is calling me. Yeah, Greg?"

As Mary watched them all attend to their devices, it suddenly occurred to her that they might be forgetting something.

"Sherlock, if this really is Moriarty, wouldn't he want to get back at you for cheating your fall?"

"Yes that's quite obvious," he said without looking up. Nothing. No death reports or unusual activity. Is Moriarty bating his time, or is there something he missed?

"And isn't it obvious he would go for one person right now?"

He looked up irritated at Mary for interrupting his thought process. "What are you—"

"Sherlock," John interrupted. "Has Molly called you?"

He froze for a moment. "Yes, she did earlier, why?"

"Well Greg said she called him but hung up before he could pick up and she's not answering."

Almost instantly, John and Mary received incoming text message.

Mary read, "It says 'glad someone's finally noticed'. " She exchanged a worried glance with John before looking at Sherlock. "It's from Molly's phone."

Sherlock grabbed John's phone to read the message himself. A thousand thoughts and scenarios were running through his head as he tried to call her. Nothing.

"Mycroft," Sherlock started apprehensively.

"On it," he answered as he picked up a call.

John turned look to Sherlock. "Do you think he's after her?"

Sherlock wasn't paying attention, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Why isn't he contacting me directly? This doesn't make any sense."

"What do you mean you can't get in?" Mycroft snapped at the caller.

"What's wrong?"

"A biohazard evacuation has been issued. No one can get into the vicinity."

"Rubbish, it's a ruse." Sherlock turned back to the driver. "Head to Barts!"

"Sherlock, calm down we have people—"

"This is not another damned agent of yours Mycroft," Sherlock hissed. His venomous tone caught the elder Holmes off guard

"Barts. NOW!" Pin drop silence followed his outburst as Mycroft quietly nodded to the driver to follow Sherlock's instructions.

The frustrated consulting detective sat back and shut his eyes.

"So stupid," he whispered to himself. Molly has never called him once in the 8 years she's known him. Why didn't he spare it another thought? If something happens to her…His thoughts were cut off by a bone-chilling song.

_**Ah, ah, ah, ah**_

_**Stayin' alive, stayin' alive**_

They all looked turned at him. He quickly pulled out his phone to see the receiver. A text message from Molly. His thumb trembled slightly as he opened the message.

It was a photo of the entrance to the morgue On the door, written in crimson blood were three letters.

_**IOU**_

* * *

**A/N: I might not be able to upload the next chapter for a few days. I figure it should be done by Friday though.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Complications

**A/N: I don't know how, but this chapter got really long. I will warn you, it's a bit tense and some medical jargon got in there somehow. Anyway I hope you like it and thanks for reading!**

* * *

"I'll find out the source of the bio—" Sherlock shut the door before Mycroft could finish his sentence. People in hazmat suits were ushering crowds away from the hospital entrance but he didn't hesitate to boulder his way through them.

"Sherlock, wait!" John ran to catch up with him, apologizing profusely as he jumped over the men Sherlock had knocked to the ground in his haste to get to the building. He finally caught up just as they got to the lower level.

They both faltered upon seeing the morgue entrance doors marked with the dripping letters.

Sherlock could hear his own blood roaring in his ears as he walked closer as he banged the doors open. He whirled around desperately trying to find her when he saw the blood peaking out of a corner of the table across the room. As he walked closer, his heart sank as when her limp hand came into view.

"Jesus Christ," John whispered.

Molly was laying on her side with her head resting on her outstretched arm. Rivers of blood were flowing from deep cuts on her wrist and expanded to the already large pool of blood around her. Time seemed to stop for Sherlock as he looked at her. Her normally rosy cheeks were deathly pale. He didn't want to, but he could feel himself retreating far from the scene and wasn't aware that John was talking until he received a hard punch.

"Sherlock! Get a grip. I need you to call Mycroft to get medics in here now!" John then grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the nearby shelf and was slowly turning Molly to lie on her back. The resonating pain on his cheek pulled him back to reality and he wasted no time dialing his brother.

"Get medics to the morgue now. Molly's bleeding out." He was surprised how calm he sounded for he was anything but that.

"Sherlock! I need your help." John looked down to see Molly's eyes flutter open. Sherlock was at his side immediately, trying his best not to calculate how much blood she had already lost. _Almost a litre_, his treacherous mind concluded.

"Molly? Molly can you hear me? You need to stay awake for me alright?" John looked up.

"Are they coming?" Sherlock nodded as he knelt beside them. "Good, keep her arms up, we need to slow down the blood loss." John quickly inspected the rest of her body for other injuries before focusing back on her wrists.

"Shit, they must have cut through to her artery. Put pressure on her left while I do the same on the right. Wait!" John suddenly bellowed. He grabbed the extra pair of gloves and handed it to him

"Here, put on a glove before you touch her wound. Not sterile enough but it'll have to do."

Sherlock nodded as he followed the doctor's instructions. It was all he could do to just focus on that and not her shallow breath and dead cold skin.

The three minutes it took for the paramedics and doctors felt like an eternity. Sherlock never hated his mind as much as he did then. Endless memories, scenarios and regrets surrounding his pathologists plagued his conscious. Nothing tortured him as much as the guilt and regret for what was happening to her; guilt for not taking her uncharacteristic call seriously, and regret for letting it get this bad.

He noted he faint heart beat pulsing against his palm and was receding into his mind palace when he felt Molly's hand tense slightly. She must have done the same for her other hand as John too turned to look down at her.

"I'm O—" she gasped.

"Molly please, don't try to speak" John urged. "Help will be here right away." But Molly shook her head slightly and struggled on.

"H…Bom—" She couldn't finish her next words before losing consciousness. Almost immediately, her pulse though, weak began to race.

"Molly?" John asked. "She's going into shock. I'll hold the other arm. Raise her feet, now!" At the moment the paramedics ran in with a gurney prepared.

John was jogging opposite the gurney as he rattled his update to the attending doctor. "We found almost unconscious on the floor. The vertical slits on her wrists may have cut through to her radial arteries. She was probably bleeding for about half an hour—"

"At least thirty seven," Sherlock corrected distractedly. He was trying to understand what Molly had been saying. It must have taken a lot of effort to spend her last lucid thoughts on her words.

"O-H, Bom…" he mouthed. _Come on_, he chastised himself. _Think, think!_

They had arrived at the A&E by then. John glanced at Sherlock before continuing.

"Right, and her radial arteries have been cut. She's showing early signs of shock and She's going to need immediate blood transfusion." It wasn't until Sherlock saw the nurses set up the blood bags that it clicked.

"No, stop, STOP!" Sherlock reached to stop them from inserting the IV.

"Sherlock what the _hell _are you doing!" John screamed as he tugged him back.

"It's going to be incompatible! She's an OH blood type."

The nurse froze at his words and looked to the doctor for instructions. The doctor stared at Sherlock as he continued to explain.

"O-H. Bombay blood group. She was trying to say that earlier."

The doctor eyed him carefully before instructing the other nurse beside him. "Go check the BloodTrack for OH blood supplies."

"Doctor," the paramedic called, "She's going into hypovolemic shock."

"Dammit. Get her more oxygen and set up the bore IV lines and prepare for recussitation."

"She's lost too much blood, her organs are failing' he updated..

Sherlock knew almost the second what the doctor was going to do next.

"No—" he croaked.

"Isn't Miss Hooper registered as an O type?" The paramedic nodded nervously. "Then give her the O negative. Get inflammatory drugs and steroids on standby just in case start the deliberator. "

"She could _die—_"

The doctor turned to them. "You two thank you but _please_ get out!"

"Sherlock let them do their job!" John bellowed as he dragged the agitated consulting detective out of the A&E.

Sherlock didn't wait until they got to the waiting room before he turned on John.

"How could you let them make that decision!"

John sighed, "If she is an OH—"

"She is!" He spat. " And you _know_ that's what she was trying to say."

"Fine but Barts most certainly won't have her type on standby."

"But provoking a hemolytic reaction in her state might—"

"Kill her, I know" John said wearily. "I don't like it either but she most certainly was going to die without the blood. There would have been no point going on without it."

Sherlock was still glaring at him. John could see it was really tearing him up but he had to hear it.

"Sherlock, you don't understand the kind of pressure you get in there. It was a life or death situation and it was his call. Let's just hope she they control the effects before a supply comes in."

Hope. Sherlock deflated at that word. Such a painful sentimental state of unknowing.

"She's going to be fine," John reassured. Sherlock could hear uncertainty in his voice but chose not to acknowledge it. Mary and Mycroft turned around the corner to meet them.

"How is she?" Mary asked apprehensively.

Sherlock walked away as John explained what happened. Mycroft watched him sit on a bench across the hallway, eyes shut, and hands cradling his head. He walked up to him, umbrella in hand.

"Don't," Sherlock's voice cracked. "Say. A _word_."

The Elder Holmes nodded before taking the seat next to his brother and remained silent.

The hospital was coming back to life around them as the last few patients and staff members were allowed back in. But Sherlock didn't notice. There was only one life in that hospital he cared about. And it was dying.

* * *

**A/N: I love too much drama. Sorry, if I'm agitating any readers. I didn't realize this was going to be so medical-ish until I started writing the dialogues out, and I'm anal about technicalities and had to stop myself from going into too much detail. ****I kind of feel bad for putting them through this. Don't hate me yet okay?**  


**Notes about some words I used:**

** BloodTrack is a blood management system used in the UK. I just assumed Barts would use it to.**

**Hypovolemic shock happens when there is sever blood loss and organs are starting to fail.**

**The hemolytic reaction that Sherlock mentions is a blood transfusion reaction that takes place when the blood is incompatible and the body's immune system is reacting badly to it. It can show up within minutes of transfusion and is scary to deal with. In this case Molly has the rare OH blood type which can't receive any blood from the ABO blood group. People with her blood type are often mistaken for being a type O. **


	4. Relief

**A/N: For the readers who have been following this story from the start (thank you btw you guys fuel my inspiration) I'd like to point out that I changed the synopsis slightly. Honestly I just added one more line but it's going to hold most of the mystery behind this fic. I finally figured out where I was going with this and felt it safe to include it on there now.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

An agonizing hour passed before the doctor returned to the waiting room to report her status. Despite the relatively short time, to Sherlock it felt like eternity. His mind bombarded him with survival probabilities he felt compelled to run thorough again. Never had he wanted so badly to shut his mind off, if only for a moment.

What may have been the worst thing was that the numbers were not adding up; given every variable he could scrounge up, there was no way she would have made it. He didn't know how much time had passed before the doctor left the A&E to speak to them.

"She's going to be fine."

He blinked up at the voice to see the doctor addressing John and Mary. He was mildly surprise to realize that Mycroft was still sitting next to him but made no move to acknowledge his presence on his way to hear what the doctor had to say.

The doctor glanced nervously at the approaching Sherlock before resuming his report. "Yes, she did react to the O negative." He explained rapidly. "But we managed to control the effects with the steroids on standby and got a few bags of OH almost immediately after you two had left."

John's eyebrows furrowed."Hang on, there was no way the Mumbai blood bank request could have been processed fast enough."

"Yes, apparently we did have supply of OH blood on standby in the hospital. A recent donor has been steadily providing some to us. It certainly saved her life."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor who cringed in response. Ignoring the effect he had on the man, Sherlock pressed forward with his question. "Will there be any long-term damage?"

"About that," the doctor drew out a loud breath. "Whoever cut her knew what they were doing. They went straight for the artery with near surgical precision. Barely damaged the surrounding tendons. She won't have any motor problems once she heals."

John darted a look at Sherlock to see how he was taking in the information. As to be expected, his face showed no emotion. He didn't look as distraught as he had been earlier—well, as distraught as he would ever permit anyone to see him—but his stoic face gave away nothing to what he was thinking.

"Is it okay to go see her now?" The doctor turned to look at Mary, who had been the one to ask. "Yes well, are any of you family?"

"I'm her emergency contact and she has no next of kin. I would be grateful if you allow them to visit her as they're her close friends."

They all turned around in surprise when they realized that Mycroft had been the one to speak up. While Sherlock was in fact caught off guard by the revelation, he had more matters weighing on him at the time.

The doctor nodded his approval. "Then they can go ahead."

"No need," Sherlock responded curtly before walking away and out of the waiting area.

"Wha-" John stared incredulously at his retreating form. He threw Mary a torn look and was reassured by her sympathetic smile. "Go after him. Keep his head together." He gave a slight nod before going after his best friend.

"Right, well if you would come this way." The doctor's demeanor had since relaxed after Sherlock's departure. Mary's eyebrows rose up slightly when Mycroft made a move to follow her and the doctor. "Just to pay my regards," he clarified almost immediately.

Mary gave him a side-glance as they walked quietly towards the patient rooms. "Why are you her emergency contact?" She received a tight smile for her troubles. By now Mary understood the elder Holmes to be a man of few words. It would appear that only his brother was capable of gauging a response out of him. Nevertheless she got the sense he wasn't just trying to be polite.

* * *

Sherlock never ceased to amaze John, that much he was okay with; but his current behavior was really taking the cake.

"Sherlock what the hell!" He had managed to follow him all the way to the blood bank to see him having already broken in and was now going through the records from the other end of the booth. Those documents were highly confidential but the man had ceased to question how Sherlock ever got into anything.

"Aren't you even going to see her?" Sherlock merely ruffled through another registry binder. "No record of a recent OH donor." He discarded binder with disgust. "Do they even have protocols?"

"Are you even listening to me?" Much of the adrenaline of the day's events had waned once it was clear that Molly was going to be okay. But Sherlock was riling him up enough to want to punch in the face. How could he be so indifferent?

"And what would be the point of that?" he responded without looking up. "I see no reason to visit an unconscious witness." Caught unawares by his response, John could only look on in disbelief. A witness? Was that what she was to him?

Sherlock's brows furrowed the longer he stared at the names of donor. "It doesn't add up. The situation was primarily set up so that she would die long before—"

"Are you saying you're disappointed that she's alive?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sherlock seemed to have caught on to the tone for he looked up from the papers to address John in a cool voice.

"No," he pressed, voice veiled with what John recognized was suppressed irritation. "I'm just trying to understand why Moriarty would inconvenience himself to go as far as keeping her alive until we got to her, especially in person."

John was having hard time not wringing is neck and had made up his mind to take a swing at him when Sherlock suddenly banged on the table to get his attention.

"Bombay blood group! That's four in a million people with that John, and they so conveniently dropped by Barts to donate blood?" Sherlock waved his hand erratically. "Not even one person, as her transfusion would have required more than 2 units of blood. He's playing with her life and I don't know why."

John heard the strain towards the end of his outburst. It was now clear that Sherlock wasn't as nonchalant as he had originally thought, and he immediately felt guilty for having believed otherwise. That knowledge was enough to deflate much of his frustration and he took a breath to clear his head.

"You think he came here?"

"This is personal to him and choice of attack was…evocative."

The uncharacteristic pause prompted John to look up just in time to see Sherlock lost in thought for a split moment.

"Nothing," he mumbled more to himself as he got abruptly to leave. "I prefer not to jump to conclusions anyway." The method obviously alludes to suicide, whether it be his or mine or both is unclear."

On their way out of the office, Sherlock gave a grateful smile at a nurse that fell the moment they passed her. The odd exchange prompted John to ask.

"I'm assuming they didn't let you stroll in there?"

"Lestrade's badge. Apparently Scotland Yard is already here."

"Are we sure it's Moriarty?" John asked hopefully. He was almost sure it was, wishing anything that it wasn't. "Could be a copycat."

"As tempting as that delusion is, no, it is Moriarty and he is very much alive. Though it escapes me how that is at the moment."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Send me a review if you like/don't like/want to speculate about the horrors I will put them through (okay i'm half joking about the horror...it's gonna be more thriller)**


End file.
